


Stars & Memories

by deluxekyluxtrashcan (rhoen)



Series: Twelve Days of Kylux [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Auroras, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/deluxekyluxtrashcan
Summary: Hux doesn't expect to find Kylo alone, staring up at the stars.Then again, he doesn't expect to find someone so human, and carrying the same burden of grief either.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In loving memory of Carrie Fisher.

Hux is surprised to come across Ren in what is, officially, a viewing platform but is more an observatory. It’s located on the uppermost floor of the command complex, and has a roof of transparisteel. On a clear night and with the lights low, as they are now, the stars are in full view. Hux hesitates a moment, having expected to be alone, before moving towards the hooded silhouette of the other man.

“Ren,” he says in greeting.

He falters again when Kylo turns. He hadn’t realised Ren was without his mask. The Knight’s skin is pale, his face unfairly beautiful in the soft light, and Hux isn’t sure what to do with the vulnerability he sees there. It’s too real; too human. Ren seems melancholy, echoing Hux’s current, pensive mood, and his eyes shimmer in the starlight.

“I didn’t realise you came up here,” he finds himself saying, feeling awkward. He draws alongside Ren slowly, almost wary of him, but more afraid of himself. He had expected to be alone with his thoughts.

Ren turns away, looking back up at the stars. “I find it peaceful.”

Hux can’t bring himself to agree with the fragile words. Instead, he remains silent, gazing upwards. The planet has a chaotic weather system, and clear nights are rare. Tonight the view is particularly beautiful. He’s grateful. He needs this.

“You know, the ones we love never leave us,” Ren says suddenly, his soft, low voice cutting straight through Hux and to the heart of the issue, as if he read Hux’s mind. Hux tenses, inhaling sharply, as a lump forms in his throat.

“Even if we think they are lost to us.”

The stars in his field of vision shatter. The words are gentle, but edged with something Hux can’t name. He can tell Ren doesn’t mean them unkindly though; despite being pitched into his own turmoil he can sense that Ren is fighting his own demons too, although Hux is suddenly too busy trying to claw his way back from the precipice of his own feelings to react in an appropriate manner. His fingers bite even deeper into his palms as he tries to work out what the correct a response would be. Ren’s loss seems so immediate, while his own, although great, is old – a worn, familiar wound he now and then catches and tears at despite his care not to.

He opens his mouth to respond, but finds himself stopping short. A burst of colour flickers across the sky, spilling from space onto the atmosphere.

“See?” Ren says, as if his point has been proven.

Hux watches, rapt. He knows what it is – it’s just the way the solar particles interact with gases in the exosphere – and yet it seems oddly magical, as if Ren’s words have given it a new life. The colours appear again, flickering once, before steadying. A narrow band of light ripples across the sky, and it is, in a word, beautiful.

When Hux turns to look at Ren, he sees tears staining his cheeks. He can’t help swallowing, feeling out of his depth and yet compelled to say – or do – something.

“You lost someone?”

Ren gives a sad smile, never looking away from the lights dancing across the sky. His expression says it all.

“I’m sorry,” Hux whispers. It’s paltry, but he doesn’t know what else to offer. “It takes a while, but… it gets easier.”

“It has to.”

They fall silent. Hux has no response to that. Tonight is one of the rare but difficult nights when the loss of his mother is too close for comfort, and he remembers all too well the immediate aftermath. He’d been more alone than ever; young and frightened, and forced into the possession of an unforgiving stranger. He’d cried himself to sleep more nights that he cares to remember. Looking out at the stars and imagining that his mother was amongst them was the only comfort he had.

He wonders who it is Ren mourns and thinks of as he watches the resplendent display above them. He wants to reach out and touch him in his grief, to let him know he’s not alone.

“My mother used to tell me stories,” Ren say, his voice cracked and raw. “Sentimental nonsense.”

He shifts, looking down for the first time. Hux pretends not to notice the tears that drip from his cheeks.

“I can’t help wishing they were true.”

“Who’s to say they aren’t?” Hux hears himself arguing. He leans towards Ren a fraction. “Stranger things have happened. You, for instance.”

He means it kindly, and is relieved when Ren gives a strange, choked sound that’s supposed to be a huff of laughter.

“Touché.”

A thin, strained smile tugs at Hux’s lips, and he feels oddly at ease, as if they’ve reached an understanding. He looks back up at the sky, still hung with pinpricks of light and alive with colour, trying to imagine what stories Ren is thinking of. He wonders if they’re anything like the ones his own mother used to tell him. She’s more alive in those memories than in any others, and he can hear her now, speaking of spirits and ghosts and timeless wonders.

“Does it help?”

Hux is confused for a moment, unsure as to whether Ren is reading his mind or talking about the night sky above them.

“Does what help?”

“Coming here. Watching the stars.”

It’s difficult to let go of his inhibitions and answer honestly. With a small nod, Hux makes himself even more vulnerable.

“It does,” he breathes. “My mother used to tell me stories too.”

“Do you remember them?”

“Every word.”

Hux’s throat is suddenly too tight for him to continue, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. The lights above them burn up deep into the atmosphere, radiating pink light. The display seems to echo the strength of the memories taking hold of him, and he wonders if his own words aren’t true, and that perhaps there is some truth in the old stories.

“Would you tell me one?”

Hux clams up even further. The stories are such intimate, well-loved memories that he can’t imagine ever parting with them. All he has left of his mother is her memory, and her words. Those things are too fragile to surrender.

Ren doesn’t seem to notice Hux’s silence, and continues talking. “My mother always used to say that the aurora was the spirits’ way of showing the living that—”

“—there’s a bridge between the two worlds; that we can still find them.” Hux finishes.

Ren turns to him, his pale cheeks stained with tears, and gives a fragile little smile. Hux can’t help returning it, feeling closer to the other man.

“It has to be true, doesn’t it?” Hux – a grown, rational man – asks. He’s aware of how ridiculous he’s being, but can’t help it.

Ren nods in answer, indulging them both. Hux is relieved. Having someone else agree makes his own pain easier to bear.

“The Force surrounds and moves through every living thing,” Ren says. “It makes sense that those echoes of life are out there, somewhere, waiting for us, and that we will find them again.”

“We will,” Hux repeats, reassuring them both.

“And until then…” Ren falters, swallowing thickly before continuing. “Until then, we cherish what memories we have of them, because what else is there?”

Hux doesn’t want to say. Without memories and the hope of seeing loved ones again, there isn’t much to hold onto. Life, like the night sky, would be cold and empty, with nothing to offer any light or hope.

And that, he’s sure, is no life at all.


End file.
